


The Art of Deception

by kkimbly



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Haunted Houses, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkimbly/pseuds/kkimbly
Summary: Atop Candour Hill there stands a haunted manor, whose haunted-eyed inhabitants are a pair of artists who flit about the house like a pair of spectres themselves. Thoroughly fed up of the house ghost that dogs their footsteps and the reputation that doggedly follows them as the resident lunatics in the town, they enlist the help of a pair of (con) artists to draw up a plan for the final masterpiece; The Great EscapeAlternatively titled, by the conscientious and mildly disapproving voice of reason standing there in the corner and refusing to join them at the table; The plan in which you four are going to scam someone into buying this wretched place while you make off with the money, never to be seen again. I did not struggle to put bread on the table for you two brats to end up taking advantage of good people –
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 23
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> 1\. This story will feature very dark themes. It's not explicitly stated, but there would be instances and sentences which are likely triggering. In those cases, please press ctrl + w and close the tab. Your health is important and you can always ask me for a summary of the story instead :)  
> 2\. The story is loosely set in a fictional town around the late 1800s . I'm not a historian or a linguist (far from it) so there are about a million and one inaccuracies in here, especially with the language (I know they don't speak like that but I can't exactly write "you kidding, bro??" in a story when they're wearing suits and riding horses).  
> 3\. No character death this time! Yay! Also. Updates will be slow because I spend my weeks killing mice or students in turn when I'm not killing myself over this

Na Jaemin lowered his reading glasses, peering at the figure in the doorway over the top of the newspaper. He let the silence hang for a moment more, “No.”

“Not a question,” Huang Renjun snapped.

“Not a suggestion, either,” Jaemin jerked the newspaper up to cover his face again with a rustle. He tutted, yanking the newspaper out of Renjun’s grip when he came over to wrench the newspaper away. “Now look what you’ve done, it’s all crumpled and ugly,” he reproached half-heartedly.

“That isn’t going to be the only thing crumpled if you don’t get off this damn chair right now, Na Jaemin.” Renjun grabbed his bicep and attempted to pull Jaemin off the armchair he had dragged from the drawing room specifically for the purpose of lounging around after a meal. Jaemin stubbornly sank down deeper into the red velvet, curling his feet around the legs of the chair and resisting with all his might. The newspaper had been crushed beyond salvation in his grip, obscuring the list of ads he had been half-heartedly perusing.

The delicate saucer with the stack of sugar cubes Jaemin had precariously stacked wobbled on the windowsill when the armchair slammed into the wall. “Hey, hey, hey, watch that,” Jaemin said, momentarily distracted.

Renjun finally gave up with a huff. “Didn’t you just have breakfast?” he said in exasperation, glancing over to the leftover toast and jam at the end of the ornate wooden table that took precedence in the dining room. “Why are you eating dessert already?”

“I like them sweets,” Jaemin replied moodily, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching out to pop one into his mouth. “They make me happy.” The grains that fell on his white pyjamas went ignored, the good humour that gripped him in the morning thoroughly ruined now.

“Go wash your face and get dressed,” Renjun said briskly, turning around and putting his hands on his hips. “You look like a right mess.”

“I told you I’m not going,” Jaemin turned his face away, knowing how much Renjun hated it when he did that.

Renjun sighed, “I’ll bring you to Delmont’s for pancakes and milkshakes later. Now come on.”

Jaemin sprang up from his seat, gloominess forgotten. “Now you’re talking,” he grinned, “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” He patted Renjun on the butt, darting away before he got hit and running down the corridors to his room, the fluffy pink bedroom slippers almost falling off several times.

“Don’t run in the corridors, Jaemin!” Mrs Garett’s voice floated out from the room she was dusting as he ran past.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Missus!” he called over his shoulder, slipping on the wooden floor as he slid to a stop in front of his room. He flung open the doors of his wardrobe, yanking out his shirts and tossing them onto the bed haphazardly.

He felt rather than heard Renjun entering through the door that he had left ajar as he was rifling through the back of his wardrobe. There was an aborted curse, “God’s sake, Jaemin, couldn’t you have put on something?”

“No one asked you to enter without knocking, darlin’,” Jaemin replied cheekily, turning to Renjun and holding up two shirts. “Which one do you think goes better with my silk jacket?”

“The one on the right,” Renjun answered without removing his hands from over his eyes.

Jaemin hummed, “Yeah, I’ll go for the other one.” He ignored the sigh from the other, bounding over to the contents of his wardrobe that he had emptied onto his bed and wriggling into his clothes, crumpling the sheets that Mrs Garett had straightened less than an hour ago.

“Jaemin, we’re going to see prospective buyers today,” Renjun said tiredly, picking up the rejected white shirt. “Can’t you wear something a little more understated?”

“Salmon pink is a lovely colour,” Jaemin declared, turning away from the mirror to frown at Renjun.

“Not when paired with that hideous shirt,” Renjun snapped, stomping over to the mirror and glaring at the blue polka dot shirt Jaemin had decided on. Jaemin ignored him, tugging at his flyaway hair absentmindedly. It flopped all over his head in a haphazard mess, nothing like Renjun’s sleek black hair, always parted neatly to the side no matter the time of the day. “They’re not going to pay me any mind,” Jaemin said dismissively, “They already think that I’m insane.”

Renjun’s face pinched in the reflection, smoothing away quickly. “You’re not insane,” he said quietly, reassuringly. Who he was reassuring was unclear. “You know that as well as I do.”

Jaemin hummed, already tiring of the topic. “Is the carriage ready?”

“Since a quarter of an hour ago.”

Jaemin scowled at him, kicking the door close behind him as they left the room. “You planned this.”

Renjun smiled at him serenely. “I plan _everything_ , darling.”

♠

The Masonsmiths were relatively nice people, objectively speaking. They also lived in a relatively nice place and tried to be relatively nice to one half of the insane artists who were the former pride and joy of the prosperous town of Highburgh. Relatively, because despite offering them tea and biscuits like every respectable family would, Jaemin saw how they avoided his eyes and spoke nothing beyond the perfunctory greetings since they arrived an hour ago.

Jaemin sunk into the armchair, uncaring of his posture. He cast a glance around the drawing room yet again, noting the gold finishing on the mantle above the fireplace that looked too brassy to be real, at the fancy crystal chandelier that was just a bit too large for the room. His gaze went back to Renjun, who was gesturing at his latest artwork resting on the easel and still going at it with his spiel about the colour theory.

“It’s a gorgeous painting,” the wife started delicately, “It’s just the, ah, circumstances that surround it…”

“I assure you, my lady, I was and am of perfectly sound mind when I painted this,” Renjun cut her off politely, crisply. The unspoken words blared loud as a gong. Jaemin didn’t have to take his eyes off the ceiling to know that three pairs of eyes had darted to him briefly. Nevertheless, he lowered his gaze just in time to send a wide, bland smile at the mistress of the house.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr Huang, we have heard much about you despite having arrived here just last spring.” Lord Masonsmith said, beckoning Renjun to sit down. “You understand, however, that we have recently underwent some renovations and we simply do not have the means to purchase another painting.”

Renjun smiled, the tightness around his eyes unnoticeable to anyone but Jaemin. “Then, as a show of friendship, I would be happy to offer this to you for fifty pounds less…”

The conversation went on, drearily dull. Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly accept it, please do, I insist. A little girl peeked in through the crack in the door, eyes round and curious. Jaemin cocked his head at her, pretending to yawn when she caught his eye. She burst into muted giggles. Jaemin grinned, whipping his head around when a throat was cleared.

“Maria, dear, go play with your brother, won’t you?” Lady Masonsmith said, eyes roving between the two of them nervously. “Mummy will be with you in a minute.” Jaemin jumped up from his seat as soon as Renjun shook hands with them, startling everyone in the room save Renjun with his sudden reanimation.

“I forgot to mention,” Lord Masonsmith said as they were seeing them out. “Could you please paint over this bit here?” he pointed at the swirling red design at the bottom corner of the painting, Renjun’s signature. “We feel that it doesn’t sit well with the theme of blue.”

Jaemin sucked in a breath, anger rising. Doesn’t sit well, my foot. As though skimping on the payment wasn’t enough, they were keen to avoid association in any way that could hurt the reputation they were trying to build in this godforsaken town. He opened his mouth, ready to launch into a scathing retort when a sharp pinch silenced the words on the tip of his tongue.

“Of course,” Renjun said smoothly, “I’ll come by sometime this week to fix it. Good day,” he tipped his hat, herding Jaemin towards their waiting carriage.

“Sly bastards!” Jaemin raged as soon as they pulled away from the house. “Renjun! Why did you let them do that to you?”

“They wouldn’t have bought the painting otherwise,” Renjun murmured, eyes closed as he lay his head back on the velvet seats.

“You’ve been working on that piece for months – ”

“I know.”

“Anyone who knows _anything_ about art can tell that this is one of your best – ”

“Thank you.”

“But if you erase your signature no one’s going to know that this is yours – ”

“I know, Jaemin!” Renjun interrupts him in exasperation. “They’re cheap, sneaky pigs and they’re going to hang that up in that awful drawing room and talk about how they personally got it from so-and-so on our last trip to France, and isn’t it just _lovely_?” Renjun pitches his voice mockingly high. “But beggars can’t be choosers, and no one wants to buy from us anymore.” Renjun turned away to look out the window at the grey clouds roiling above the muddy green fields. “We can’t go on like we did before.”

Jaemin bit his lip as he stared at Renjun’s turned back, upset on behalf of his friend. He cautiously rocked forward, resting his chin on Renjun’s bony shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Baby,” he cooed into Renjun’s ear, nuzzling into the downy hair at his nape. “Let’s go for a walk and have some dessert, hmm? Forget those people.”

Renjun pushed him away weakly. “Get off me.”

Jaemin smiled, leaning forward to tell the coachman about the change in plans. “Let’s go to Donghyuck’s after this too. He mentioned something about a new chess set.”

Renjun made a sound of disgust. “Lord, no, anything but that insufferable shrimp.” Jaemin didn’t bother replying, knowing that he would give in soon enough. Their carriage trundled along, the uneven dirt path slowly giving way to the paved streets of central Highburgh. The noise of the town was a familiar sound, newspaper boys standing at the corner of streets shouting the headlines, the rattle of carriages rolling over the stone pavement, people’s conversations rising and falling like waves.

Their carriage slowed to a stop at Delmont’s, a restaurant tucked away in a side street that specialised in breakfast food and Jaemin’s idea of what heaven is. Jaemin alighted first, holding out his arm for Renjun teasingly who knocked it away with a scowl. There was the sound of high-pitched giggling, followed closely by a sharp reprimand. Jaemin turned around just in time to be knocked aside unceremoniously by a pair of children running down the street. Teetering on the curb, he lost his footing and stumbled, crashing against a man hurrying past.

“Watch where you’re going!” the stranger growled, barely stopping his brisk pace. Jaemin caught a momentary glimpse of a thick, luxurious moustache, rather out of place on the unlined face before the stranger strode off, bulky coat billowing out oddly from behind him.

“Are you alright?” Renjun frowned after the man who disappeared round the corner. “That was rude.”

Jaemin shrugged, dusting himself off. “It’s all good.” His hand brushed against his coat pocket and he frowned. “What is it?” Renjun picked up on the motion.

“I just remembered that I want biscuits,” Jaemin said, not moving. There was a churning in his gut, a creeping certainty of exactly where his wallet had gone. “Be a darling and get me my usual, will you? I’ll drop by to the grocer and be back in a minute.” He distractedly kissed Renjun on the forehead and hurried off after the man, speeding up to a run.

Jaemin ran down the street, slowing down at the intersection and craning his neck for the atrociously patterned coat. There was a flash in the corner of his eye and Jaemin ran after it, uncaring of the whinnying of horses as he weaved in and out of the traffic dangerously in pursuit.

The man was ridiculously hard to catch, slipping into side streets abruptly and disappearing from view behind every passing carriage. Jaemin would have lost him if it weren’t for the man’s ankle bending under him painfully as he took a turn too fast. To his credit, he recovered quickly but that split second was enough for Jaemin to catch up with him and grab his arm.

The man threw his arm off, scowling, “Excuse me?” he barked, voice raised.

Jaemin blinked. “That should be my line.”

There was the barest flash of confusion in the dark eyes, clearly thrown off by Jaemin’s unexpected remark. “Are you in the habit of grabbing people by the arm?” he said instead, dusting his sleeve and looking down his nose at Jaemin.

“Are you in the habit of grabbing people’s wallets?” Jaemin batted back without pause, not the slightest bit intimidated by the height difference or the obvious aggression in every line of his body.

The man’s brow crumpled in confusion. “What wallet?”

Jaemin smiled and rocked forward on his toes, grin unnervingly wide. “The wallet you filched from my pocket outside of Delmont’s, what do you think?”

The man had the audacity to laugh in his face. “I didn’t steal anything, pretty. Did you follow me all the way here just for that?” he said mockingly.

Jaemin faltered, doubt overcoming his gut instinct briefly. The man caught it, smug smile growing. “Why don’t you try retracing your steps? That usually works. Or perhaps,” he drawled, “you were finding an excuse to talk to me?”

He was clearly aiming to make Jaemin as uncomfortable as possible. A lesser man would have folded, Jaemin simply beamed at him. He reached out and drew his fingers down the man’s arm, noting the slightness of the limb concealed under the heavy coat. “You caught me,” he said playfully, looking out from beneath his lashes. “How ‘bout a drink sometime?”

The man’s smile froze slightly. “I’m sorry, doll, but I have someone already – ”

“There’s an inn nearby,” Jaemin interrupted, curling his hand around the man’s arm. “We can go in for a quick one and your sweetheart will be none the wiser.” And neither will he when Jaemin finds his wallet and escapes out the window. 

Jaemin started to paw at him shamelessly, smile fixated on his face the whole time. “Don’t touch me,” the man snarled, the slightest trace of panic creeping into his voice, “Take your desperation with you to the brothel – ” his voice cracked on the last syllable, the deep voice sounding awfully young for a moment. Like a youth’s.

They both stilled.

Jaemin squinted at the face shadowed under the hat.

The moustache slowly unstuck, drooping lopsidedly. Their gazes followed its lazy fall.

Then Jaemin was lunging for him as he attempted to break into a run. His hands seized the coat with a vice-like grip and the man slid out of it, slippery as a fish. Before he knew it, Jaemin was left standing in the street with the coat, the man (?) vanishing as quickly as an apparition. Jaemin snorted, groping inside the pockets as he made his way back to Delmont’s.

His fingers brushed against a familiar leather surface and he pulled the wallet out, checking to see if all was in order. “Where have you been?” Renjun demanded when he pushed open the door to Delmont’s, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully.

“Getting back what belongs to me,” Jaemin replied, tossing his wallet on the table and throwing the coat over an empty chair as he slid into the seat opposite Renjun. He pulled the plate of pancakes towards him, pouring syrup over it generously.

“You’ll ruin your insides and your teeth,” Renjun said disapprovingly, looking at the pancakes with clear disgust but not making a move to stop him.

“I told you darling,” Jaemin said, cutting his pancakes into precisely nine sections, “I’m here for a good time, not a long time.” He happily balanced a bite on a knife, lifting it eagerly.

“Excuse me,” a voice cut into their conversation before Jaemin could even take a bite.

“What now?” he snapped, losing his patience abruptly. The pancakes quivered, falling off the knife and into the puddle of syrup, splattering onto his jacket. Renjun made a sound of distress, leaning away from the table. “Oh,” Jaemin sniffed, eyeing the wide-eyed man standing next to their table, specks of gold syrup now adorning the white apron tied around his waist. “You’re new. Haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’m sorry to disturb your meal,” the man said, fingers twisting around each other. He had a faint accent, a little clipped, rather unlike the low drawl common in their town. Jaemin raised an eyebrow in interest. A newcomer in more than one way then. “May I ask how you came in possession of this coat?” Jaemin’s eyes followed the finger to the hideous coat draped carelessly over the chair.

“Oh, that?” Jaemin turned his attention back to his pancakes, losing interest quickly. “It’s from a pickpocket.”

“A pickpocket?” the man repeated, voice rising slightly in disbelief.

“You heard me,” Jaemin took another leisurely bite of pancake, talking around the chewed mess in his mouth despite Renjun’s pointed nudge under the table, chewing contemplatively. “Plucked the wallet right out my pocket and was halfway down the street before I even realised what was going on. He almost got away with it, I think I half-believed his lies for a second.” Jaemin leaned back in his seat, swallowing. “Truly, I’m a little impressed.”

The man had paled during the course of Jaemin’s speech. “I see,” he sounded strangled. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said mechanically. “I’m glad you got your wallet back. Please enjoy your meal.” With that, he walked off as stiffly as he had spoken.

“Where do you think he’s from?” Jaemin asked Renjun, dabbing his mouth delicately with a napkin.

Renjun folded his arms, looking around the luxurious interior with a surveying eye, likely picking out ideas for his newest project. “Not from around here, that’s for sure.” Renjun cast him a meaningful look.

Jaemin snorted, raising his teacup like a wine glass. “Shall we have a toast? Someone starting a conversation with Na Jaemin after a year of nothing but polite greetings and stilted silences is worthy of celebration, don’t you think?”

Renjun laughed, reaching over to pluck the teacup from his fingers before he could drop it and make a mess. “You’re such a fool,” he said fondly. “You still have me and Donghyuck, don’t you? Lord knows that one needs to learn how to shut his mouth once in a while.”

♠

“Renjun! Jaemin! My darlings!” Lee Donghyuck threw his arms out as he descended the marble steps of his manor, theatrically slow. Behind him, Renjun heaved a minute sigh. “When will he ever stop behaving like that?”

“It’s all part of his persona,” Jaemin replied in delight, mirroring his motion and approaching the man. “How do you think he managed to secure his position in every social circle in Highburgh?”

Donghyuck pressed two noisy kisses on Jaemin’s cheeks, doing the same to Renjun before he could escape. “It’s also how I can have the pleasure of staying friends with you two lunatics without my reputation taking a hit.”

“Don’t call Jaemin a lunatic,” Renjun jumped to his defence, pushing Donghyuck away and rubbing his cheeks with a scowl.

“It’s alright,” Jaemin said magnanimously, slipping between them and slinging his arms around both their necks before they could start properly fighting. He dragged them none-too-gently towards the grand wooden doors. “Considering that fit I had last year at our Christmas ball it would be more surprising if they didn’t.”

“To be fair, she was being a bitch that day,” Renjun said thoughtfully, nudging the heavy doors open with his shoulder and heading their entwined figures towards the parlour. “Toppling the champagne tower and bursting all the lights in the Christmas tree – I was close to losing my nerve too.”

Donghyuck disentangled himself from them to point a finger at Renjun sternly while pushing the door to the parlour open, where a gorgeous spread of finger food was set up beside a chess set. “No, not you. If you start raving about the ghost too you two will be carted off to the bedlams and I won’t be able to stop them. There’s a limit to my influence.”

Jaemin tucked his interlaced fingers behind his head, strolling over to the large bay windows and gazing out at the gloomy winter sky. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he said wistfully. “Free board and bread, that’s really all a man wants, isn’t it?”

“That, and an exquisite chess set,” Donghyuck said gleefully, picking up an obsidian rook and holding it towards the light to examine it more closely. “The Lord will someday strike me down for my pride, but until then I shall simply enjoy all that life has to offer.”

Renjun threw himself down on a chair with a groan. “That day may come sooner than you think, Donghyuck. We’re running low on money and you might find us on your doorsteps one fine morning with nothing save the clothes on our backs.”

“I assure you that on that fateful day Jaemin will be more than welcome to stay,” Donghyuck sniffed haughtily, “He would make a charming companion, unlike someone else we know.”

Renjun plucked the queen piece off the chessboard and started tossing it up and down, much to Donghyuck’s barely concealed chagrin. “It is no fault of mine that you are unable to keep up with our lively banter. Perhaps age is getting to you. Or the feast you gorge yourself on every week is rotting your mind away.”

“Strong words coming from the man who seems to have stopped growing in the middle of his youth, mind and body alike,” Donghyuck bit back, snatching the piece from his hand and setting it down gently. “As punishment for slighting your host, you shan’t have tea.”

Renjun laughed, the sound making Jaemin turn away from the window to smile at his friends. “But truly,” Donghyuck said, moving a knight into position after they settled down enough to start playing properly. “Were you jesting earlier? About not being able to afford your bread anymore?”

Renjun moved his pawn, resting his head on his knuckles from where his arm was propped up on the arm of his chair. Jaemin tutted, leaning over on his perch on the other arm and moving the rook instead. “If only that were the case,” he sighed, “No one wants to commission Jaemin anymore and I’ve had to lower my prices by a large margin. It’s only a matter of time before it catches up to us.”

Donghyuck was silent, staring at the chessboard with a furrowed brow. “Is there a way to look for other customers? People who would buy from you or wouldn’t sell you short?”

“No,” Jaemin answered, taking the entire plate of pastries off the gold stand and resting it on his lap. He popped tarts into their mouths before taking one for himself. “They’ve made sure to gossip to everyone they know about the poor old dears living in that grand old house all alone, with no company aside from their own minds,” he quoted, mildly amused. Even before this, Jaemin’s name never seem to leave people’s mouth for long. “It’s no wonder they start seeing things and speaking nonsense.”

“I’d love to see them try living in that cursed place for a night,” Renjun grumbled, pouring more tea for himself and Jaemin, pointedly bypassing Donghyuck’s, who stuck his tongue out at him childishly. “I would wager my money that they’ll have a change of heart.”

“Please don’t,” Donghyuck said, sounding strained. He took Renjun’s bishop off the board. “We talked about this Renjun, don’t go picking fights you can’t win.”

“And like I told you before,” Renjun checkmated him with a smirk, “I always win.”

Donghyuck threw himself back with a groan. “At what cost? Say you manage to convince them that there’s truly a ghost in your house and that it moved on from haunting the house to haunting your spirits. What then? They’ll simply exorcise the two of you from the house and send you to the asylum.”

Jaemin got up and walked over to the bookshelf, running his fingers idly over the spines. Their voices carried easily to him in the echoing space. “If you could try to convince them too – ”

“It wouldn’t matter – what I say wouldn’t matter, Renjun. They refuse to believe and nothing I say can persuade them otherwise. On the contrary, I would be doing more good by keeping my silence.”

There was an exhale followed by a protracted silence. Jaemin continued to feign interest in the books, pulling one down by random and browsing through it, keeping his back to the other two. It’s like what Donghyuck said, sometimes it did more good to pretend not to know.

♠

The clock tolled, signalling the third hour.

The covers were pulled all the way up to Jaemin’s nose, leaving him just enough room to breathe. The room was dreadfully cold, a draft was blowing in from some unseen crack, raising goosebumps on his skin from under the heavy covers.

Jaemin lay wide awake, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The wind over the moors wailed softly, a long, mournful sound like a lost child. Inside his room, the air was oppressively thick, as though darkness condensed into a tangible weight. In, out, Jaemin’s breath came rhythmically, shallowly. He could feel a coldness creeping up on him that wasn’t from the drafts, nor from the late hour.

The cold fingers brushed along the bare skin of his legs, up to his torso where it settled on his chest. The weight increased, pressing down on him and his breath stuttered, fighting to keep the steady rhythm.

Even through the pitch-blackness, Jaemin could faintly see the outline of a figure, darker than night, darker than anything on Earth, looming over him as it sat on his chest. It watched him silently. At the beginning Jaemin had been terrified out of his wits, mute and trembling as it sat on him the entire night, unable to fall asleep and incapable of moving. Now that he had grown accustomed to its presence the terror faded to a sort of resigned dread, expectant and yet no less torturous.

The pressure on his chest increased, coldness seeping through his bedclothes like icy water, trickling down into his heart.

Drip, drip, drip.

Each drop on his heart froze and hurt. The cold felt like a cramp in his chest. His heart fluttered, an anxious bird trapped in a cage of bone. The coldness continued its languid progress from his heart and into his head where it casually ripped open a chasm through which Jaemin could hear a million voices talking over each other, anguished, panicked, restless, drowning his sense of himself.

Down the hall, Jaemin knew that Renjun was similarly hiding under the covers. If he was lucky, he would be able to pass the night peacefully, or as peaceful as one can be while waiting for their fickle visitor. Jaemin had half a mind to creep down the hallways and join Renjun under the covers, but like every night he ended up losing his nerve.

There was no need to bring the ghost to Renjun and more selfishly, Jaemin hated the thought of having Renjun see him like this, like the lunatic Jaemin was slowly starting to believe himself to be as it became harder and harder to remember himself as the days passed.

His eyes were dry from staring.

The wind continued to howl.

The voices screamed.

Every second dragged on, simultaneously lasting for an eternity and yet meaning nothing at all. Just the wordless roaring in his head and the cold fingers holding his heart, pinning him to the bed like a butterfly on a board.

♠

Dawn trudged in silently, reluctantly, dragging fingers through the blue grey clouds above as she did and letting the first rays fall through the broken pieces. The ghost faded away but Jaemin could feel the phantom weight on his chest, the coldness left behind. His hand twitched.

That singular motion let him move his head next, slowly turning to look out past the curtains he always kept open out of sheer desperation of not feeling like he was alone in the dark. The orange light shone into his eyes and he turned away quickly, restless and agitated for a reason he couldn’t comprehend.

Even with the ghost gone Jaemin found himself reaching for it, seeking the comfort of being alone, away from the stage, from the tightrope he was pretending came to him effortlessly.

There was a heavy knock on the door. “In a minute, Mrs Garett!” he called, voice scratchy.

There was a pause, “Were you up all night again, Jaemin?”

Jaemin swallowed, “I just woke up, I’ll be out in a moment.” The silence told Jaemin that she didn’t believe him. Mercifully, she chose not to push it, leaving with a reminder to get off the bed already. Jaemin blinked a few times, his limbs jerked as he sat up in bed woodenly. He walked over to the basin and went through the motions of washing and dressing up.

His fingers paused over the buttons of his canary yellow shirt when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His reflection looked back at him dully, ashen skin and hollowed eyes. Dropping his hands, Jaemin reached for the rogue and powder on the dresser and carefully painted a visage on before stepping back to regard himself again.

The man in the mirror was tall and slim, the slightness of his figure just short of looking unfashionably so. His bright yellow shirt stood out like a beacon against the velvety black suit, drawing the eye away from his face. He watched as the thin lips stretched to a smile, further and further until it took up half his face.

Be careful, Jaemin.

Be very careful.

The ghost lay a hand between his shoulder blades.

♠

Renjun was seated at the table already, pristine and polished as usual as he buttered his toast. “You’re up early,” he remarked, not looking up from the newspaper propped up against the jug of tea. Jaemin took a seat next to him, the legs dragging on the wooden boards noisily. The words were on the tip of his tongue, heavy and misshapen. He opened his mouth and they vanished, scattering into the air. Instead, he drawled, “Renjun, darling – ”

“No.” Renjun cut him off instantly.

Jaemin scowled, “It’s bad manners to cut someone off while they’re speaking – ”

“I know,” Renjun interrupted him again, looking like he was taking great delight in doing so.

“Well, all I’m trying to say is – ”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Renjun smirked to himself, rustling the newspaper obnoxiously. He wasn’t even reading it, Jaemin knew, because the newspaper was open to a page advertising a tonic for baldness. Jaemin was frequently accused of having a lack of foresight, but he was quite sure that the same couldn’t be said of his eyesight, which currently registers a lovely mane of hair atop Renjun’s crown.

“Will you _please –_ ”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I want waffles!” yelled Jaemin, glaring at Renjun imperiously. Renjun ignored him, pouring himself a cup of tea and drinking serenely. “You just had pancakes yesterday, so no, you don’t get any more sugar.”

Jaemin glared at him mutinously. “You can’t stop me. I’ll make my own if I have to.”

Renjun rolled the newspaper up and mockingly waved in the direction of the kitchens. “Feel free.” They held the eye contact for a few silent moments.

Jaemin, to his shame, broke it first, “I don’t know how to,” he muttered. Renjun laughed so loudly Jaemin was sure that the birds on their roof took flight. “You’re a right prat,” Jaemin huffed, standing up from the table without having taken a single bite. “I’ll go to Delmont’s and get the sweets myself!” he yelled as he left the room, startling Mrs Garett who was coming with a plate of scones and clotted cream.

“Is that for me?” Jaemin breathed, gaze fixated on them.

“Why, yes,” Mrs Garett said, attempting to push past him to the closed door. “I thought you might like some after that awful night you had.”

Jaemin wavered, wanting nothing more than to grab the plate of warm scones, their buttery smell wafting into his nose. But the thought of going back into the room he had marched so dramatically out less than a minute ago was humiliating, to say the least. It would be like a petulant child being coaxed into obedience and Renjun would never let him live down the comparison. 

“I…” Jaemin trailed off. Mrs Garett raised an eyebrow. “I was going to Delmont’s,” he said weakly.

“Why?” Mrs Garett looked rather put out, “Don’t you like the breakfast I made?”

“I do,” Jaemin said helplessly, not knowing how to get out of the sticky situation he was digging himself deeper into. “I just – ” don’t want to go back in there with you holding the sweets in one hand and my hand in the other “ – remembered that I left something there yesterday.”

“What did you leave?” Mrs Garett pressed.

Lord, have mercy. “A coat,” Jaemin fibbed. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he had left that hideous coat from the pickpocket on the chair because there was no way that he would ever be caught holding something so ugly. He still had a reputation to maintain. If he was going to be insane, he was going to be fashionably so.

Mrs Garett looked thoroughly confused now. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, edging past her. “On second thought, could you leave the scones in the oven? Renjun can go without it.” Without waiting for a reply, Jaemin rushed away, heading straight for the stables. He’ll drop by Delmont’s really quick and grab something and be back within the hour before Renjun gets his grubby hands on his scones.

The ground was muddy and his mount slid alarmingly as Jaemin rode him in the direction of the town central. Jaemin clung onto the reins for dear life, praying that he wouldn’t slide off the horse and into a puddle or something equally embarrassing. The biting wind cut through his suit jacket like scissors to paper, the outfit he picked out completely unsuited for a lone gallop through the fields in the morning. He was starting to sorely regret the series of actions which have led him to this very point.

Was petty pride worth it, Jaemin? Was it really?

The stallion snorted as it jumped over a ditch, narrowly avoiding throwing Jaemin down it. Jaemin swore loudly.

The bell jingled brightly when Jaemin pushed open the door to Delmont’s, a stark contrast to his sour mood. “Back again, Mr Na?” the maître d' approached him confusedly, well-aware that Jaemin wasn’t allowed consecutive days of sugar, courtesy of Renjun.

“Yes,” Jaemin snapped, damp and disgruntled from the light rain that had started halfway through his journey. “I want waffles. Please,” he tacked on as an afterthought, remembering his manners. He’ll have the waffles _and_ the scones, just to spite Renjun.

He collapsed into a chair, thighs aching from the hard gallop. Outside the restaurant, the townspeople bustled by busily, baskets of milk and bread swinging from arms and the high-pitched laughter of children rising above the din. The muted rattle of chinaware being set down on the table drew his attention and he turned around.

It was the same waiter from yesterday, the one with the unusual accent. He was staring at Jaemin brazenly as he lay the plate of waffles down. “Good morning,” Jaemin nodded to him, puzzled by the attention.

It snapped him out of his daze. The waiter bowed, leaving quickly. Jaemin cut his waffles methodically, the tension in his shoulders leaking away slowly. It wasn’t an especially bad night, all things considered. At least the ghost wasn’t sitting on his shoulders or whispering in his ear like it had in the past when it was feeling particularly nasty. Still, Jaemin could feel its presence and he knew that it was there, just out the corner of his eyes, invisible to everyone but him. He ignored the ghost for now, letting the sunlight streaming through the windowpanes wash over him and quietening himself to listen to the world around –

“Excuse me.”

Jaemin closed his eyes and let out a long, tired sigh.

He didn’t answer for a moment, half-wishing that he had dreamt the words up and perhaps the person was talking to someone else –

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” the voice was closer to his ear now, mistaking Jaemin’s resolute deafness for actual deafness.

“First of all,” Jaemin cut the voice off without opening his eyes, “Never apologise for something which you had intended to do. If you have half the mind to even think about it, have the nerve to do it audaciously.”

“See? Even he agrees,” another voice joined him, sounding as annoyed as Jaemin does.

Against his will, one eye cracked open the slightest bit. In the next moment, his eyes flew open and he was standing up from the chair so fast it almost toppled back. The waiter from earlier was standing at his table with a tall, lanky youth behind him. The youth didn’t even deign to look at him, pulling the ugly coat around his shoulders with a defiant air. Even without the fake moustache and hat, Jaemin could tell that this was the same pickpocket from yesterday.

The waited yanked the youth forward firmly, putting his hand at the back of his head and pushing him into a bow. The youth bent at the waist like a blade of grass, almost comically limp. “My name is Lee Jeno,” the waiter introduced himself, unnecessarily formal. “And this is Park Jisung, the youth that I am responsible for and who had attempted to steal from you yesterday. I apologise for not having taught him better.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Well, you certainly made up for it by bringing him directly to me. I would imagine that the police would be more than happy to deal with him.”

Jeno’s face blanched and Jisung straightened up with a jerk, knocking his hand away. “Sure, let’s see how far you get when half the town thinks that you’re crazy.” A voice cut into their conversation. Another youth materialized from around the corner and approached them. He had a face that appeared cherubic on first look, but as one gazed at him one became aware of the deliberation in every step he took and a certain sharpness in his eyes.

“Chenle!” Jeno said, sounding horrified, “Don’t speak to him like that. That’s bad manners.”

Chenle sent him an incredulous gaze, “He was literally threatening to send Jisung to prison. Was I supposed to be nice?”

Jeno turned back to Jaemin with a barely suppressed sigh. “I apologize on behalf of the both of them, but it would be a great help if you don’t report us. We just came to town not long ago and we really can’t afford to make a bad impression already.”

Jaemin stared at him unblinkingly for a few seconds more just to unnerve him. He abruptly broke into raucous laughter, “Of course I won’t, what do you take me for? Come,” he sat back down and gestured at them, “do join me for breakfast. I’m in need of some companionship.”

“I was under the impression of the contrary,” Jisung muttered, silencing when Jeno glowered at him. The three of them slid into the seats with varying degrees of uncertainty, with Jeno bearing the bulk of it and the other two simply looking like they were wondering how soon they could start reaching for the plate of fruit.

“Bon Appetit,” Jaemin nudged his cut waffles towards them. He eyed Jisung as he dug into the food without reservation. His gaze drifted to Jeno who was pouring himself so little tea it might just as well have been a trickle from a leaky faucet. “The guardian busies himself with honest work while the youth goes around picking pockets,” his eyes slid to Chenle, “or finding information to blackmail people into silence.”

“It’s not like that,” Jeno protested at the same time that Jisung lifted the knife and pointed it at him, “Bingo.” He shovelled a large bite of waffle into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open and performing a complicated handshake with Chenle.

“Information is worth its weight in gold,” Chenle proclaimed smugly.

Jeno looked ready to hit them both over the heads with the teapot. “Do you do this often?” Jaemin asked, not taking his eyes off Jisung. His mind was whirring busily, puzzle pieces fitting together and coming apart, testing patterns with only a vague direction.

“Oh no,” Jeno was still trying to do damage control, bless his little heart.

“Why?” Chenle asked, leaning his elbows on the table. “Do you want to pay for our services?”

“Chenle!” Jeno snapped, reaching the end of his patience. The two youths flinched, ducking back down to their food without another word. Their reticence lasted for barely a minute before Chenle was speaking again, “Just so you know, sir, if you’re looking for a quick mind I’m the man for it but if you want quick fingers, Jisung’s not half-bad himself.”

“He has a quick tongue too,” Jaemin couldn’t help saying, “Don’t you, _pretty_?”

Aside from the deepening flush on his neck, Jisung showed no signs of having heard that. “It’s part of the job description, sir,” Chenle added helpfully, “He’s not too good with kids though, but that’s where I come in. You’d be surprised how easy it is to convince them to do something. All it takes is a penny.”

Clearly giving up on salvaging the situation, Jeno stood up without having touched his tea. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he said, sounding so sincere and earnest that Jaemin found himself inclined to apologise back. “I promise that they’re not bad kids, just a little troublesome.” With a final bow, he grabbed the two of them by the scruffs of their collars and lifted them off the seats like overgrown kittens. Jisung stretched out a hand and snatched a large piece of waffle just as he was hauled away from the table. 

Jaemin stretched his legs out leisurely, tipping his head back to trace the swirling designs painstakingly painted on the ceiling. The puzzle pieces slotted together, slowly building up to a picture in his mind’s eye. He may have fallen from grace but Jaemin was still an artist at heart, and at the peak of his career he was the puppet master to Donghyuck’s chess games, the stars of the high society in Highburgh.

For the first time in what felt like months Jaemin felt some semblance of his old self returning to him, a lucidity that he had all but forgotten by now. One last performance. Tomorrow, Jaemin will start gathering his pieces.


	2. Chapter 2

“Does your brother know about this?” Jaemin asked, ducking his head to get through the low doorway.

“Does your caretaker know about this?” Jisung sniped, still looking he would much rather shove Jaemin out their headquarters, though the term, from what Jaemin could tell, was used very, very loosely. Jaemin didn’t fault them, the most eloquent person would find it difficult to find a term for the space that existed between two grimy shops selling the confusing and unrelated wares of hair tonics and clocks. Just like how every shop in that alleyway seemed like it was added as an afterthought by the architects, the room looked like a sketchbook shoved unceremoniously between leather-bound books by an absentminded librarian.

“Be nice to the customers, Jisung,” Chenle reproached mildly, closing the door behind him and picking his way through the clutter carefully, “They’re going to be paying us.”

“We don’t know about that yet,” Jisung mumbled, still eyeing Jaemin with distrust, but with a fraction less animosity than before. He was perched on the lone table in the room that creaked warningly under his considerable weight, which seems to constitute of skin and bones and not much else. Jaemin looked around for a seat and finding none, settled himself delicately on an upturned crate which appears to be there by accident and not by intent.

“So!” Chenle slammed his hands on the table, startling Jisung into nearly falling off. “How may we help you, sir?” Jaemin had scarcely opened his mouth to reply before Chenle was interrupting him, pushing Jisung off the table, “Forgive my manners, may we offer you some tea? Jisung, make us tea,” He barked without waiting for Jaemin’s reply.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Jaemin murmured, well-used to living life on the edge but something about the grubby rooms and Jisung’s _trifle_ distaste of him was making him reconsider his next actions. It wouldn’t be difficult to slip a smudge of arsenic into his tea and dispose of his body, especially because at this moment in time, Jaemin was supposedly going on a walk through the fields to pick flowers.

It was too late to do anything anyway, because Jisung was already slouching over with the tea that he set down on the neighbouring crate with a bit too much force. Chenle poured tea into a pair of mismatched cups he conjured from a bookshelf that contained everything but what it was designed for. Jaemin accepted the proffered teacup politely, unsurprised to find it almost as cold as a puddle on the street, considering that the whole teapot was prepared in under a minute.

Chenle sipped at his tea with a pinkie sticking out and regarded him coolly, an action that was simultaneously familiar yet completely bizarre when paired with the threadbare clothes and lingering softness of his cheeks. The rest of the space made just as little sense. Half open tins of what Jaemin assumed to be biscuits fought for space with a teetering stack of rusty buttons, a candelabra with a half-melted stick of candle and a silk top hat in remarkably good condition. There was also, inexplicably, a plaster bust on the highest shelf whose broken visage leered down at them ominously.

Jisung hovered around awkwardly for a moment and abruptly joined Chenle leaning against the table with his own tea, pinkie similarly sticking out. Jaemin let the silence grow while he continued his unhurried examination of the room. From the corner of his eye, Jaemin saw Jisung discreetly spitting his tea back into his cup. “Well?” Jisung finally broke the silence, unable to bear it anymore. “What do you want?” he demanded, frowning afterwards at Chenle who elbowed him harshly. 

“I would like to request your services,” Jaemin said serenely, unruffled by the hostility.

“How much?” Chenle asked without missing a beat.

“For what?” Jisung said at the same time.

Jaemin paused, running his thoughts through his mind again. A little voice that sounded like Renjun’s screamed at him faintly to reconsider, but right now his impulse control was blissfully unaware and thankfully far away from Jaemin. “I need you two to pose as our relatives,” he stated without preamble.

To his surprise, neither of them so much as flinched. They were either exceedingly good at maintaining a poker face or concerningly familiar with odd requests. Unnervingly, the both of them simply cocked their heads in unison, gaze fixated on him like a pair of hounds with a rabbit. “To put it simply,” Jaemin explained, “Renjun and I are in dire financial straits. Up to around December last year we were in good social standing and were highly regarded as artists and poets. We were making a fair bit of money through commissions and poetry readings. However,” he faltered briefly, reluctant to share too many details, “our names have taken much damage this year with the result that we are no longer able to continue our lifestyle.”

“What happened?” Chenle asked, bypassing his attempt to gloss over the subject.

Jaemin was silent. At his reticence, Chenle said, “I’m not asking out of mere curiosity, mind you. But if you want to hire us for our services we would need to know the ins and outs of this entire thing. Particularly because the three of us have been here for all of three days.”

Jaemin fiddled with his cuffs and gave in with a sigh. “A ghost started haunting our manor,” he said tersely, eager to get through this as fast as possible. “It followed us everywhere, even when we left the house. It got to a point where we were struggling to create our craft because it wouldn’t leave us alone for even a moment. It eventually culminated in a disastrous night during the Christmas ball hosted at our manor.”

“What happened?” Jisung prodded, parroting Chenle.

“The ghost wreaked havoc on the party,” Jaemin said crisply. “Then it proceeded to possess me and send me into a screaming, wailing fit long enough to completely demolish any chances of me returning to high society. Renjun, by association, didn’t fare that much better. People are unwilling to buy from us now and our savings are running out rapidly, and this manor is currently the biggest drain to our finances.”

A long silence took over the room. Jaemin patiently waited for the information to sink in before going on. “What I would like to offer is a partnership; for the two of you to pose as our illustrious younger brothers back from their overseas studies to replace their siblings in society while pretending to slowly pack us away to the asylum.”

“What do we get in return?” Chenle asked, a glint in his eyes as he weighed the offer.

“You get a cut of every art piece or poetry you sell and,” Jaemin looked the both of them in the eye, “half of what this cursed manor sells for during the real estate auction three months from now.” 

“What do _you_ get in return?” Jisung asked, deeply suspicious.

Jaemin shrugged, smiling at them, “We get enough money to escape this godforsaken town and start over at another place where no one knows us. And we can finally wash our hands of that blasted house with the damn ghost,” he scowled.

“I don’t know,” Jisung said at the same time that Chenle put down the teacup and strode forward to shake Jaemin’s hand, “It’s a deal.”

Jisung sent Chenle a betrayed look, seizing his arm and dragging him back. Chenle gave him an equally betrayed look back. “What are you doing?” they snapped at each other loudly, Chenle’s high voice mingling oddly with Jisung’s deep one.

“Do you know how much money he’s offering?” Chenle gestured at Jaemin furiously, “Why are you even hesitating?”

“We don’t know this man!” Jisung snapped back, “We should at least do a background check on him, see if we can even pull this off at all, and figure out the terms of this thing. What if we don’t manage to pull it off? Do we still get payment?” They turned to him simultaneously, eerily in sync again.

Jaemin shrugged nonchalantly, “I came to you precisely because I don’t have any left. But if you would like to take free board as payment, you’re welcome to move into Candour Hill,” he spread his arms mockingly. And maybe the ghost would prefer fresh new victims and finally leave them alone.

“Why us?” Jisung asked, ever suspicious.

“You two are young, virtually unknown in this town,” Jaemin counted off his fingers, “and are of swift mind and feet. More importantly,” Jaemin levelled a gaze at Jisung, grinning broadly, “You make an excellent performer. You two are exactly who I need to pull off this fraud.”

“What fraud?” boomed a voice from the doorway.

Jisung’s and Chenle’s face drained of colour. Jaemin turned his head lazily, seeing Jeno enter the room. He was frowning at them, his rolled-up apron in one hand. “Jeno,” Jisung said, the stutter barely noticeable. “You’re back early. Would you like some tea?”

Jeno ignored that, looking at Jaemin quizzically, “What are you doing here, sir?” From the corner of his eye, Chenle opened his mouth, a determined glint in his eye. Whatever lie he had been preparing to say went to waste because Jeno put the pieces together far quicker than Jaemin expected. It must be a survival adaptation from living with the two devils. “You’re hiring them to pull off a fraud.”

“No,” Chenle and Jisung denied in unison.

Jeno narrowed his eyes at them.

The two of them stared back innocently, not blinking. When Jisung’s eye started to twitch, Jaemin stepped in quickly. “It’s not a _fraud_ ,” Jaemin said, trying to sound as offended as he could. “A fraud is a lie and I’m not making them do any lying.” They _were_ brothers if you squinted close enough, like brothers by Christ. And yes, well, no one said that a beginning career couldn’t be considered illustrious. You just had to be optimistic enough.

Jeno unfortunately, didn’t seem like he was inclined to listen. He folded his arms, glaring at the two younger ones. “Pray tell, what exactly are you hiring them for then, if I may ask?”

“Oh it’s nothing,” Jaemin said airily, attempting to lean back and almost falling off, having momentarily forgot that crates do not commonly have a backrest. “Ahem,” he coughed, righting himself and pretending that the three of them weren’t looking at him in a mixture of disgust, entertainment and concern. “I was merely asking if they would be interested in acting as an agent of sorts, to help us to sell some artworks in our stead.”

Far from reassuring Jeno, this seemed to raise more questions instead. “And why couldn’t you have done it yourself? Sir,” he tacked on hastily at the end. “These brats are hardly qualified to even handle artworks, much less sell them to people who clearly know more about it.”

Jaemin waved a hand dismissively, almost knocking down a bare lamp that was curiously missing its shade. “Everyone starts on a blank slate. With the right training, they’ll soon grow competent enough at it.”

Jeno looked like he was struggling to hold himself back from asking something else. Jaemin raised an eyebrow, prompting him. “Why them?” he finally asked.

“Why not?” Jaemin replied, abruptly losing all enthusiasm for the conversation. He picked at his nails, “They seem to be in need of a job and I am in need of someone to help me deal with people, which I admit is rather tiresome. It’s a fairly simple deal.” He lifted his head, “Do we have an agreement or not?” he asked grumpily, wanting to go home already.

“Yes, we do,” Chenle said hastily before Jeno could object. He rushed forwards and shook Jaemin’s hand vigorously, evidently taking enthusiasm to be a stamp of agreement. 

“Wonderful,” Jaemin said briskly, dusting his pants out of habit. He faltered when Jeno caught the motion and averted his eyes to the ground. He hesitated and steeling himself, grabbed the teacup and swallowed it all in one go. From behind Jeno, Jisung looked at him as though he was crazy. “Thank you for the tea,” he said sincerely, “You’ve been lovely company.” To Chenle and Jisung, he said, “Please come by for tea tomorrow, our housekeeper makes the most divine finger sandwiches and I think you will enjoy them. You’re welcome to join us if you wish,” he directed the last part at Jeno, knowing full-well that he can’t because he would be working and therefore incapable of obstructing Jaemin’s plan. 

Chenle grinned at him brightly, “We’ll see you – ”

“What time is tea?” Jisung interrupted, earning himself a glare from Chenle.

“Really, Jisung?” Chenle scolded, “You’re asking that? Everyone knows that tea is at any time of the day that you want it to be.”

Well, he’s not entirely wrong. Jaemin eats scones before bed and calls it an early breakfast when Renjun barges in to take it away.

“Tea is at three in the afternoon,” Jeno cut in tiredly, glancing at Jaemin for confirmation.

“We live at Candour Hill,” Jaemin said as Jeno walked him out, “It should be fairly easy to find.” Jaemin tipped his hat, “So long.”

♠

As with all things concerning Renjun, problems were generally small but absurdly difficult to deal with. “I don’t know, Jaemin,” Renjun was frowning as he ate his potatoes, “It seems like an awful lot of trouble and it isn’t very honest, is it?”

Jaemin dipped his third bread roll in the sauce, not having touched his steak and potatoes yet. “Renjun, darling, I adore you but please try to see some sense. A clean conscience wouldn’t do us any good if we were dead.”

Renjun reached over and took away the basket of bread rolls before Jaemin could take another one. He gestured at Jaemin with a knife, “Eat.”

Jaemin scowled but obliged. There was silence as they ate and Renjun continued to saw at his steak contemplatively. “Are you sure this will work?” he said finally, putting down his fork and knife. His steak was shredded on the plate, not much of it making to his mouth.

“It’s fairly simple,” Jaemin said, pushing his potatoes around. “We introduce Chenle and Jisung as our brothers – or cousins, whatever seems more plausible – have them sell our works in our place and eventually,” he gestured grandly around the room, “auction off this damned manor.”

“Why would people believe us?” Renjun asked, nodding to Mrs Garett who set a bowl of pudding in front of them.

Jaemin pouted when Mrs Garett merely pushed his plate in front of him with a gesture to finish his meal. “We’ll just have Donghyuck introduce them as good friends of his, that should be sufficient. Even we have trouble keeping up with his string of acquaintances and we have known him for years.”

Renjun rested his head in his chin, “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he said thoughtfully, “If I am honest, I’m quite inclined to do this, ludicrous as it sounds. We don’t have much of a choice left. But,” he lifted a finger as Jaemin started to jump out of his seat in excitement, “what do you plan to do after this?”

“Grab the money and run,” Jaemin said in puzzlement, unsure why he was asking something so obvious.

“Where?” Renjun pressed.

“I don’t know yet,” Jaemin admitted. “Not in this town, that’s for sure. Besides the minor inconvenience of the next owner possibly chasing after us with a candlestick for the extra occupant, I’m not very fond of this town. I’d much like to go to a place where I can finally have some peace.”

Renjun was oddly silent. Then, rather peculiarly, he said, “I won’t do it without Donghyuck. Convince him and you’ll convince me.”

Jaemin shrugged in acquiescence, dismissing the matter. He ate his meat as Renjun continued to prod at his pudding, already dreaming of all the places that he could go.

Donghyuck, unlike Renjun, took the news far less calmly.

“Are you out of your mind?” Donghyuck demanded, moving his rook two squares with barely suppressed force.

“According to the rest of town, I certainly am,” he replied, moving his pawn and taking a knight, pointedly gentle.

Donghyuck cursed, considering the chessboard with narrowed eyes and thought about his next move. “You should try this lifestyle sometime,” Jaemin said encouragingly, “It’s rather liberating, I must say. No one questions you on what you do anymore, they just write it off as another manifestation of lunacy.”

Donghyuck stared at him in disbelief while reaching for a finger sandwich and accidentally picking up Jaemin’s bishop instead. Jaemin watched in mild amusement, not bothering to stop him as he brought the bishop to his mouth. “Oh, ugh,” Donghyuck grimaced, teeth clacking on the marble loudly. “Say that I help you, then what? What do you plan to do after this?” he asked, echoing Renjun.

“Get out of town,” Jaemin replied, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. He shivered as a cold draft blew in from the windows behind him, the static in the air signalling a coming storm. He vaguely reminded himself to end this game quickly so that he wouldn’t have to deal with a wet ride again.

“Where?” Donghyuck questioned.

Jaemin sent him an exasperated look, not understanding why everyone was so insistent on knowing. “Why? Are you planning to come round for tea every other day?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck batted back without missing a beat, “Don’t expect to be rid of me so easily.” Despite the lightness of his words there was a certain strain in his voice when he continued, “I suppose you’ve convinced Renjun to go with you?”

“Renjun refused to participate unless you agree to,” Jaemin plucked a scone and slathered clotted cream on it, bored of waiting for Donghyuck. “I’m not quite sure why, but I don’t question him on his peculiarities just as he doesn’t question mine.”

“He said that?” Donghyuck asked in a low voice. His gaze was still fixed on the board, but Jaemin doubted that he was thinking about chess.

Jaemin hummed, “If I may, I think it would be a good idea all around to do this. Renjun isn’t faring very well from living with me, the townspeople are rather unforgiving to anyone who associates with me as closely as he does.” Jaemin averted his eyes to the row of books lining the wall, an extensive but mismatched collection he knew Donghyuck spent years acquiring.

“Why can’t you continue staying here?” Donghyuck asked, still looking at the board. “If you’re careful with your funds, it should last you for a while. And I would be more than happy to help.”

Jaemin sighed, “I appreciate the offer very much, Donghyuck, but if staying means living in that dratted manor, it won’t be long before he has a fit like me. And,” Jaemin chewed on his lips, not sure how much he could divulge, “Renjun is of a sensitive temperament. His patience is remarkable, but he is not the sort who can recover quickly once he breaks.” He paused for a moment, “I must admit that I am not the easiest or most useful person to be around,” he said, voice quieter than he expected, “but I would like to help him as much as I can. After all, no one else knows how difficult it is to live like that than me.”

Donghyuck finally moved his piece. “Then, what I will say is this. No matter your decisions, you will always find a friend in me. All I ask is that you never forsake me, no matter what transpires.” 

Jaemin tilted his head at the strange request. “That is more than what anyone else would do for me, and you have my word that I will repay my debt in full.” With that, he turned back to the board and after a moment’s consideration, languidly reached forward and captured Donghyuck’s queen with his rook.

♠

Growing up with Jisung and Chenle – or rather raising little devils like them – had attuned Jeno to every signal they send each other through their own private frequency. For the most part, he simply pretended not to know, choosing to let the two brats think they have the upper hand on him so long as they kept within their boundaries.

This sixth sense is currently proving itself very handy, as the two of them silently argued over their dinner of boiled cabbage and potatoes. Neither of them had spoken for the past fifteen minutes, which makes it about ten minutes longer than they normally took to finish their meals. To the uninitiated, it looked like they were ignoring each other but Jeno could see the minute frown on Jisung’s face, the faint exasperation on Chenle’s and the barbed glares they threw each other every so often.

If Jeno would be bold enough to make a wild guess, Chenle was trying to rope Jisung into doing something that he disagreed with, and it had to do with the man who had come by earlier. And if Jeno were to take it even further, he would wager that the two of them had not had a chance to properly fight about it yet, which meant that they were waiting for him to leave before they talked about it. Which could _easily_ be extrapolated to mean that they were planning to hide it from him. This thus leads to the unavoidable conclusion that it was something that he had every reason to want to know.

“What did the man come by for?” Jeno asked, going straight to the point.

“It’s like what he said,” Jisung answered, somehow managing to sound annoyed at Chenle, Jeno and the world in general, but Jisung was generally a disagreeable child, so perhaps that wasn’t unusual. “We’re helping him sell his art.”

“You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic,” Jeno observed.

“Well, you would be too if you didn’t know,” Jisung cut off abruptly. He took a deep breath and threw Chenle a look full of rage. Chenle blinked at him innocently.

“Didn’t know what?” Jeno prompted.

“Didn’t know anything about art,” Jisung said grudgingly, stabbing at his potato and making an awful scraping noise on the plate.

Jeno stared at the both of them silently. They avoided his eyes. “What’s going on?” When he didn’t get an answer, he continued more forcefully, “You two are keeping something from me. What is it?”

“We’re not,” Chenle mumbled. Jisung didn’t say a word.

Jeno kept his gaze trained on Jisung, the weaker link of the two. Jisung still wasn’t looking at him, choosing to glare at a wall angrily instead. He folded his arms, sitting back in the rickety chair. For once, he was glad of the clutter of the claustrophobic space they lived in. It meant that he was able to block the way to the upper loft where they slept in and seal off every escape route while he shook the answers out of them.

“I’m waiting,” he addressed it to Jisung, knowing how the other hated prolonged conflict. “What is it you’re hiding from me? How do you think I’ll feel if the police comes up to me one day telling me that they found you two in a ditch?”

“It’s not that bad,” Chenle protested.

“Just imagine,” Jeno bulldozed on, pulling out the trick he kept up his sleeve for situations like this, “I already feel terrible enough that I couldn’t put enough food in your mouths, much less send you to obtain an education or learn a craft – ” though that had to do more with their inability to obey authority, “ – and now I can’t even keep an eye on you two to keep you guys safe – ”

“We’re going to pose as his brothers,” Jisung blurted. He cursed as Chenle shoved him off the crate, grabbing onto the table to stabilise himself and sending the plates clattering. The two of them jumped when Jeno slammed his hands on the table, spilling a cup of water. “You what?” he near shouted. There was a banging on the wall and a muffled curse from their neighbour. He struggled to lower his voice. “You’re going to attempt fraud? With high society?” His voice climbed despite his efforts, “Have you two lost your minds?”

They shrank back from him, looking down guiltily. “Do you know what they’ll do to you if you get caught?” he raged, “It’s one thing to be thrown into prison, but if you mess with the wrong person they could very well find a way to hang you at the gallows! Did you even think about that?”

From the look on their faces, they clearly have not. Jeno suppressed the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t want you two to be involved in this,” he said forcefully, “What was that man – Jaemin, was it? – thinking when he came up with this? What kind of person tries to use children for his own gains?” The more he thought about it, the more furious he got. He sent them off to bed not long after while he himself sat up and stewed in anger. No doubt he would come by and look for them when they didn’t turn up at the appointed time and Jeno had to see to it that it would be the last they see of him.

♠

Jaemin frowned, drumming his fingers on the oakwood table. It was already quarter past four and Jisung and Chenle have yet to turn up. At half past four, he got up and swept out of the parlour, snagging his coat and hat as he walked to the stables to get the coachman.

“What gives?” he demanded as soon as he stepped into Delmont’s and caught sight of Jeno behind the counter. The maître d' took one look at him and went to the back, presumably sending his usual order of pancakes to the kitchen. Good. He waited up for tea only to be deprived of it. “I’ve been waiting since three and the door was locked at your place, is it common courtesy to leave your host waiting without a message?”

There was a hint of apology in Jeno’s eyes as he approached Jaemin, but his lips were pressed in a thin line. “I forbid them from going,” he said. Before Jaemin could say anything, he went on, the gentle voice Jaemin was accustomed to hard and accusatory. “I suppose for people like us, we wouldn’t know what proper etiquette is, but I’m certainly sure that involving children in the crimes of adults hardly counts as common courtesy either.”

Jaemin laughed, a discordant sound loud enough that it attracted the attention of some customers. “Crimes?” he scoffed, “That term is rather harsh, don’t you think so? I was merely offering a mutually beneficial partnership.”

Jeno didn’t look away, gaze still unwavering and reproachful. “I speak about things as they are, sir. Call it what you wish, but what you’re offering is immoral and I will not allow for the children to partake in any of this.”

Whatever Jaemin had been planning to say disappeared upon the sight of Chenle and Jisung poking their heads out of the kitchen. Chenle waved at him unhappily, “Did you bring some sandwiches for us?” Jisung smacked him half-heartedly but didn’t say anything to refute him.

“Are you two working here?” Jaemin asked, ignoring Jeno’s shushing motions.

“Yes,” Chenle replied as though they weren’t having a conversation across half the restaurant. “Jeno said that we should earn our keep if we have that much time to get into mischief.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow at Jeno, who sported the faintest flush on his cheekbones. “I freely admit that I’m unfamiliar with the workings of children,” Jaemin said slowly, “But I’m fairly sure that putting them to work qualifies them as adults.”

“Well – ” Jeno started to say.

“So you agree!” Jaemin grinned. “Having to earn their keep implies that they’re mature adults, which means that they’re free to choose how they get about doing it.”

The panic on Jeno’s face grew as he rapidly realised how quickly the conversation was spiralling out of control. Jaemin bounded over to where Chenle and Jisung were hovering at the doorway to the kitchen, watching the conversation with keen interest or feigned disinterest. “Well?” Jaemin demanded, “Are we going to talk this over or not?”

Jisung reached out and yanked him firmly into the mercifully empty kitchen. “Try to at least be discreet, god,” he muttered. 

“Are you agreeing?” Jaemin asked in delight, echoing Chenle’s squeak of excitement.

Jisung scowled, though it looked like it was more for show than anything else. “Thirty percent,” he declared, leaning an arm onto a table dusted with flour, the other hand resting on his hip. The business-like sharpness of his tone was at odds with the youthfulness of his face, but Jaemin supposed that the two of them have had to learn a lot more than most youths did. “We want thirty percent of every transaction we close and fifty percent of what the manor sells for.”

“Deal,” Jaemin said without hesitation.

“No, Jisung,” Jeno said from behind him, sounding a mix of horrified and betrayed. 

“ _Yes_ , Jisung!” Chenle cheered, throwing his arms around the boy. “You’ve finally come around!”

Jisung rolled his eyes but made no move to push him away. Jaemin watched the motion with interest. “It’s a lot of money,” he said instead. “I would be a real fool to reject it.”

Jeno slid in between them, glaring at Jaemin. “Do you two not remember what I told you last night about being hanged?” he said through gritted teeth.

Jaemin waved a hand dismissively, “Bollocks. Nothing of that sort would happen.”

“It’s either that or we hang ourselves out to dry for when the debtors eventually track us down,” Chenle shrugged, sounding impressively unconcerned for a problem of that magnitude. He still hadn’t let go of Jisung. In fact, he looked like he was rubbing his face all over Jisung’s back like an oversized cat. How adorable. Jaemin cooed internally.

“Wonderful,” Jaemin clapped his hands together as though they were in an office rather than standing around in a kitchen while flour found their way into Jaemin’s hair. “I’ll need you to move into Candour Hill as soon as you can and let me know of anyone who you have met within the past few days. I’ll see to it that they forget about your existence entirely.”

“That’s enough!” Jeno snapped. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked close to actually hitting Jaemin. Without warning, he reached forward and seized Jaemin’s bicep, dragging him physically towards the back of the kitchen.

Taken aback, Jaemin was unable to respond for a few moments and stupidly let himself be pulled along. When he came to his senses, he dug in his heels, halting their movement. “What do you think you’re doing?” he yanked his arm back, more surprised than outraged.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to remove you from the premises,” Jeno said, looking a little surprised at himself. He shook his head, gaze becoming more determined as he reached for Jaemin again. “I can’t agree to this. Even if they’re not minors anymore, I can’t allow them to be put into a potentially criminal situation, both as their friend and as a law-abiding citizen.”

“Did you just say, ‘law-abiding citizen’?” Jaemin asked, flabbergasted. “Out loud?” God, Jaemin knew that he would be a square right from their first meeting but this really blew his expectations out of the water. Behind him, there was the sound of someone slapping a hand to their forehead.

Jeno chose to ignore that, though there was a reddening of his ears. He tugged at Jaemin’s arm but now that Jaemin has decided to be stubborn, all he succeeded in doing was tripping over his own feet. Jaemin caught him around his waist before he could get intimately acquainted with the ground and pulled him right again. “Hey, pretty,” Jaemin grinned, their faces barely an inch apart.

Jeno made an offensively disgusted face and shoved him away. Jaemin knocked into the table behind him and his hand automatically reached out to stabilise himself, hitting a bowl of batter in the process.

The bowl spun across the table gleefully, dodging Jisung’s hands that darted out to catch it and defiantly slinging half its contents at his face. Jisung swore creatively, loud enough that it rose above the sound of the bowl hurling itself off the edge of the table in a final heroic attempt to escape and promptly meeting its end against the unforgiving floor.

As if on cue, Mr Delmont rounded the corner with the head chef in tow. “What in heavens happened in here?” he cried, aghast, as he stared at the shattered remains of the bowl and at Jisung, who was pawing the batter away and spreading it magnificently across his hair. Mr Delmont caught sight of Jaemin, “Jaemin, what are you doing here?” he asked in confusion, “Has no one went out with your order yet?”

Jaemin eyed the mess on the floor dubiously, “I think I’ll be alright without it today.”

Mr Delmont’s eyes slid to Jisung, who was _still_ trying to get the batter out of his eyes and just barely avoiding elbowing Chenle who was trying to help him. “Will you keep still?” Chenle yelled, momentarily forgetting their company and making everyone in the vicinity jump. 

Mr Delmont threw his hands up, “Please, all of you out,” he said, sounding close to tears.

“I apologise for this, Mr Delmont,” Jeno said in a rush, “I’ll just clean this right up – ”

Mr Delmont stopped him with a gesture. “No, thank you,” each word was punched out like a typewriter. “Just. Take your siblings and leave.” He turned his back on a stunned Jeno, who stood frozen with a rag in his hands. “Jaemin, I’m terribly sorry but I don’t think we’ll be able to make you pancakes today.”

Jaemin shrugged. He honestly didn’t care anymore. This was more than enough excitement for the day and his energy had long run dry. “Shall I come back tomorrow?” Jeno asked in a small voice.

Mr Delmont took a deep breath. “I believe the bakery is hiring,” he said, the closest to a dismissal that he was capable of. Jaemin waited for Jisung and Chenle to nudge Jeno out of the kitchen before turning back to Mr Delmont with a wide smile, pulling his wallet out his coat pocket. “Let’s try to keep this between ourselves, shall we?” he said sweetly.

The trio was almost down the end of the street when Jaemin left Delmont’s. He trotted to them, catching up easily. “So,” he dragged the word out as he pulled even with Jeno’s long strides. “When are you going to come over?”

Jeno gave him an incredulous look. “You just got me fired!”

“I did?” Jaemin plucked a lint off his sleeve. “I thought it was your fault.”

“Mine?” Jeno looked like he was about to explode.

“You shouldn’t have pushed me,” Jaemin said petulantly, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “That was mean.”

Chenle barely suppressed a giggle from beside Jeno. Jeno opened his mouth to reply and seeming to think better of it, pulled Chenle and Jisung along as he sped up. Jaemin kept pace with them, deriving an absurd amount of joy in seeing the irritation build up in Jeno’s face. They approached the ‘headquarters’ Jaemin visited yesterday and he belatedly realised that it was where they lived, helping to man someone’s half-forgotten shop in exchange for free board. 

Jeno herded them in before him and attempted to close the door in Jaemin’s face, still not looking at Jaemin or saying a word to him. Displeased with the lack of attention, Jaemin shoved his foot into the doorway, barely flinching when the door slammed hard on it. Jeno jumped, eyes widening in shock, “What are you _doing_ – get your foot away – ”

“Listen,” Jaemin started despite knowing that Jeno was going to do anything but, that stubborn prick, “It’s a win-win situation. I don’t have money,” he gestured at himself with his hands before turning it to Jeno, “You don’t have money. We work together, we both get money. _It’sh shimple_ ,” he exaggerated the words, as though Jeno was simply stupid, not stupidly stubborn.

Jeno pinned him with a severe look. “I’m not going to sell the kids for a mere two pence.”

“It’s going to be a lot more than two pence?” Jaemin attempted half-heartedly.

Jeno ignored him, “Thank you for the offer but we’ll earn our living through _lawful_ ways,” he bit out, blatantly ignoring Jisung’s mumble of “But you just got fired” from within the shop. “Now if you please.” Jeno tried to politely push his foot away.

Jaemin shoved his whole leg in.

Jeno kicked his shin, losing every semblance of civility and booting Jaemin and his now aching leg out the door before slamming it shut.

“That was rude!” Jaemin yelled at the closed door. “I thought you were a gentleman!”

“Sod off!” came the faint reply.

Jaemin raised a foot to kick the door, putting it down after a moment. It was far too much effort and Jaemin was done for the day. He straightened his coat with a huff, turning on his heel and stomping back to where he had left his coachman waiting. Now he had to walk all the way up the bloody street again. This was why he constantly says that life is nothing but a massive chore.

The next morning, Jaemin woke up to two lost kittens – one cunning and one feisty – on his doorstep, their furious guardian standing behind, arms folded, and _still_ refusing to look at Jaemin.

He leaned against the doorjamb, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette holder. The cold blue dawn was slowly being streaked over into a daffodil yellow sunrise, but a chilly wind still nipped at his exposed ankles from under his dressing robe. “We’re just about to have tea,” he smiled lazily, “Care to join us?”

♠

“I didn’t choose to be here,” Jeno announced defiantly the moment Jaemin closed the door of the dining room behind them.

“Right,” Jaemin replied, amused.

“I mean it,” he insisted, not moving in place even as Chenle and Jisung migrated over to where Renjun was calmly buttering his toast. Chenle plopped in Jaemin’s seat next to Renjun and struck up a conversation with him right away while Jisung sullenly pulled a chair over and started to quietly pile food onto a plate.

“Alright,” Jaemin said, still with the air of an adult humouring a child.

Jeno narrowed his eyes at him. “It’s your fault that I got fired from Delmont’s, so you didn’t leave us much of a choice.”

Jaemin put a hand on the small of his back, making him startle. He guided him towards the head of the table where Chenle and Renjun had started an incomprehensible exchange of words that was quite unlikely to be in a language that he knew. “Please, let’s eat first,” Jaemin said gently, “You must not have had your breakfast yet.”

Jeno stood around unsurely as Jaemin dragged two chairs over, the legs scraping against the wooden floor noisily and catching on the tail of his dressing robe. “Jaemin, for God’s sake,” Renjun said in exasperation, breaking off from his conversation with Chenle, “You’re going to scuff the floor.”

Jaemin disregarded him, ushering Jeno to sit down on Renjun’s other side, next to himself. “Renjun, can we go see the ducks at South Park later? I want to pick flowers too.”

“Didn’t you just go picking flowers the day before?” Renjun put his buttered toast on Chenle’s and Jisung’s plates before making one for himself.

“I lied,” Jaemin said cheerfully, “I went to Jeno’s.”

Renjun sighed in resignation, not looking the least bit surprised. Jeno’s eyes flicked between Jaemin and the food and, with the attention off him, began to reach for the food cautiously. Jaemin watched him from the corner of his eye as he gave in to his hunger and started to eat properly. He deliberately ignored the three of them and chattered to Renjun endlessly about mundane things, letting them eat in peace.

“Eat, Jaemin,” Renjun interrupted him.

That caught the attention of the table, the youngers ones looking at his untouched plate curiously while Jeno pretended not to look. “I don’t want to,” Jaemin replied easily, smile still fixed to his face.

Renjun levelled a reproachful look at him. “I’m not hungry,” Jaemin brushed it off, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He had drunk three cups before their guests arrived and he was glad that Renjun was preoccupied enough with their company not to notice. “Will you be alright with sharing a bed?” Jaemin asked abruptly, directing the question to Chenle and Jisung seated opposite him.

“Yes,” Chenle answered automatically while Jisung stared at him blankly, chiming in belatedly.

“Some of the rooms are a bit drafty because we never got around to fixing it,” Jaemin said, putting his cold hands under his thighs and rocking back and forth. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to put up with sharing a room until we get them to look less like the haunted rooms they are.”

Renjun sent him a sharp look. “Is this house really haunted?” Jisung asked, the stiffness of his lip belying the nonchalance in which he asked the question.

Jaemin shrugged, “You’ll have to see it to believe it, I suppose. It’s certainly real enough to Renjun and me. Then again,” he looked round the table with a faint smile, “What’s real and what’s not? Everything we see of the world is inside our own heads.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question of the day: what is real?
> 
> If we consider what we see, think and feel to be real, then it implies that the stimulation of the senses in the body or nerves in our brain are the conditions necessary for something to be real. So if a brain is put into a jar and electrical impulses are sent to it, is what it's feeling real? Along that same line, if one person declares something to be real and another does not, who do we believe? We could just as easily argue that the non-believer is incapable of believing because he did not receive the same kind of stimulation.
> 
> Food for thought :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we're reaching the middle of the story! I expect it to extend to around 6 chapters in total, but we'll see. 
> 
> I've said this before and I'll say it again, TRIGGER WARNING. This chapter is heavy and potentially triggering, please close the tab if it is upsetting you. You can DM me and I'll be happy to provide a summary of it.

Jeno pushed open the door to the library, balancing a tray of food in his other hand. The tray wobbled dangerously when the door jammed for a moment. Jeno kicked at it solidly, sending it swinging open. Jaemin’s voice, raised high in annoyance and interspersed with Jisung’s belligerent replies, grew in volume as he approached.

The two of them were by a bookrack next to the fireplace. Jaemin was perched on the armrest of an ancient looking armchair, his legs pulled up to his chest in an impressive display of grace and balance. Jisung was holding a book in his hand, looking down at it intermittently while he attempted to wear a hole in the carpet with his pacing. “It doesn’t matter whether you understand it or not,” Jaemin was saying, the most frustrated Jeno ever heard him. “All you have to do is to read it out with _emotion_.” Jaemin made a strange motion with his hands, hitting the edge of the marble mantlepiece in the next moment and wincing.

“How do you expect me to perform a dramatic monologue when I don’t even know what I’m saying?” Jisung snapped, at his most disagreeable mood. Neither of them had so much as glanced at him. He stood next to them awkwardly, still holding onto the tray and feeling as though he would be disturbing a precarious balance.

“Have you ever heard of playing a persona?” Jaemin asked in a sickly-sweet voice. “That’s basically what I’m paying you for.”

“You haven’t paid us yet!” Jisung retorted, fully fired up in the way only youths can be over an argument that might as well be a matter of life and death.

“And you won’t be until you do what I tell you to!” Jaemin yelled back, nullifying Jeno’s thoughts almost immediately. He turned to Jeno abruptly, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. “Why are you carrying this?” he asked, cutting off whatever it is Jisung was about to say.

Jeno set the heavy tray of food down on a table gratefully, pouring tea out into two cups. “Because neither of you turned up for lunch,” he said, passing a cup of tea to Jisung first, then Jaemin.

“I mean,” Jaemin took the cup, forcefully pulling Jeno to sit down in the armchair he was balanced on. Jeno’s shoulder brushed up against Jaemin, the warmth of his body seeping into his arm when he shifted to lean against Jeno. “Is Mrs Garett ill?”

“No, she’s perfectly fine,” Jeno fidgeted, not knowing if he wanted to stay frozen in place or move away. “I offered to help because it wouldn’t sit right with me to live here without earning my keep.”

“There’s no need for that,” Jaemin said dismissively, “Just take a look at your brother, _he_ certainly doesn’t seem to have any reservations,” Jaemin’s voice took on a decidedly more venomous quality as he directed the last sentence to Jisung. Jisung made an affronted sound, the mashed potatoes silencing whatever protest he was no doubt about to make.

“Is he not working as he should?” Jeno frowned at Jisung disapprovingly. “Jisung, I raised you better than that.”

“It’s not my fault!” Jisung cried in outrage, finally swallowing the potatoes. He seized the book that he dropped unceremoniously onto a side table, the motion making the plate of food on his lap teeter as it cowered from him. “Look at this; ‘weeping willows stand guard against the gales.’ How is this supposed to represent the wives? A tree is just a tree!”

“It is not!” Jaemin said hotly, “Willows sound like _widows_ , and they stand guard like their soldier husbands, except that their positioning at the entrance to the cemetery signifies that they’re guarding something dead – which could be taken to mean hope or their hearts – against the screaming voices which try to rip them away,” Jaemin finished passionately.

Jisung made an grotesquely twisted expression. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you just said.” Jeno really didn’t either, but it didn’t seem like his opinion would be welcome.

Jaemin half-fell out of his chair in indignation and stalked towards Jisung, who automatically rose to meet him. “It’s not my fault that you’re just too! Thick! To! Get it!” He punctured every step with a word and came chest to chest with the other, tilting his head to glare up at Jisung. With a growing smirk, Jisung looked down his nose at Jaemin and very deliberately, raised an eyebrow.

Jeno leapt up, putting a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and gently pulling him back before Jaemin could do something unfortunate like take a swing at Jisung, who was not known for his forgiving nature. “Perhaps you could explain in shorter sentences?” Jeno tried pacifyingly, “Jisung gets confused when people talk in circles around him.”

“That’s just another way of calling him thick,” Jaemin mumbled, letting Jeno push him back into the chair.

“What was that?” Jisung barked, leaping up from the chair he barely sat down on and promptly upturning his lunch onto the Turkish carpet.

On the third day, Jeno was hit by a flying projectile launched by a vindictive Jisung.

Two days after that, Jeno found himself running towards the parlour at the alarming sound of glass shattering, where the lovely tea set lay broken and bleeding at the feet of the two who were _still_ having a go at each other.

“Why can’t you two be more like Renjun and Chenle?” Jeno demanded in exasperation after stopping them from going into a full-on brawl for the fifth time. Jisung folded his arms mutinously, a stark contrast to Chenle who was sitting quietly by Renjun’s side while he painted, the two of them chattering away delightfully in Mandarin when Jeno dropped in with refreshments a minute ago.

Jaemin was draped haphazardly on his favourite armchair, his tiger striped suit making him resemble a rug tossed carelessly by a housekeeper elbow deep in a brutal scrubbing of the room. “Maybe my poems are just rubbish,” Jaemin said moodily, half to himself. “It’s not about me being crazy, they just…don’t like…” Jaemin trailed off, sinking his chin deeper into his chest despondently. It was such a stark difference from his usual moods that even Jisung paused uncertainly for a moment. “Do you?” Jaemin asked abruptly, looking up at the both of them with wide, serious eyes. “Do you think I’m crazy too?”

It was such an absurd question, asked as innocuously as the weather by a man who spoke with the weight of someone holding out a piece of their heart. Jeno opened his mouth and whatever it was that he thought to say disappeared. He had never met anyone quite like Jaemin – people simply didn’t _behave_ like Jaemin, who saw with knowing eyes the lines drawn in chalk and danced over them with all the glee of a destructive child without rhyme or reason.

Nothing about Jaemin ever made sense and yet. There were those moments when he would finally quiet down and he would seem perfectly sane, sitting docilely at the window reading a book and chewing on a pen. And even when his eyes were glazed over, looking out the window and not saying a word throughout the conversation at the table, there would be a glint in those dark, intelligent eyes and Jeno would get the distinct sense that he knew a lot more than he let on. This was a man who drew every line and step with the deliberation of a performer, who was anything but a mindless fool.

How does one answer a question like that? For a man who made sense to no one but himself?

“I think you’re insanely infuriating,” Jisung was the first to speak, breaking the silence that was starting to stretch like spun glass. “But you seem right in the head to me, even though you keep blabbing on about the ghost.”

Jaemin’s head was bowed, the blue leather-bound book clutched tightly in his claw-like hands. “My poems?” the question was barely audible, half-formed and pried from unwilling lips.

“I don’t get it,” Jisung said bluntly, rubbing his face. “That isn’t,” Jisung broke off, glaring fixedly at a corner, “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, I’m just a thick bloke,” he said roughly, still not looking at anyone. “But they’re. They’re nice words.” The words hovered in the air for a moment before Jisung abruptly turned on his heel, marching out the room and letting them fall to the ground behind him.

Jeno turned back to see Jaemin with his head turned, resting a cheek on his knee, curled up in a foetal position on the chair and gazing pensively at the door Jisung went through. “Perhaps there’s hope for me yet,” he murmured, seemingly to himself, eyes half-shut languidly. His spidery eyelashes fluttered on sharp cheekbones, a desiccated pupa of a boy.

♠

“How is he?” Renjun asked with the air of someone wanting to get over something unpleasant quickly. He turned a page of his book from where he was sitting in bed, the thick blankets practically swallowing up his slight form.

“A nightmare,” Jaemin let the heavy door fall shut behind him and flopped onto the bed, sprawling his limbs all over the place obnoxiously. He rolled onto Renjun’s leg, a bony, bird-like limb and crawled up, slumping onto Renjun’s stomach.

“Go away,” Renjun said without much heat, half-heartedly pushing his head away before giving up and massaging his scalp. “Not everyone thinks like you, Jaemin, especially not a child who doesn’t seem like he has seen much of a book besides the ones flung to his head.”

“I’m doing my best!” Jaemin whined, winding his arms underneath Renjun, who made an annoyed noise but didn’t stop him. “Maybe I’m doing something wrong, it still doesn’t seems like he gets it.”

“But must he?” Renjun asked, finally putting the book away to look at Jaemin seriously. “Like what we said at the beginning, all they have to do is to play the part. He doesn’t have to understand or believe it himself, he just has to make others do.”

Jaemin did not reply. “You don’t like the idea of that, do you?” Renjun said gently, fingers still running through his hair. Jaemin stared fixedly at the bedside lamp, the orange glow throwing shadows against the walls of his room. “A writer whose words are not understood is like a man in a foreign land,” he replied, voice subdued. “At some point the silence absorbs him.”

Renjun exhaled, his hand stilling to rest atop Jaemin’s head. Jaemin’s head moved with his breathing, his torso a soft and comforting warmth beneath his cheek. “They’ll do well,” Renjun said firmly, “He may not be the brightest child, but the both of them are sharp enough to navigate around the vultures. And Donghyuck would be there,” he said, voice softening the slightest bit.

Aha. Jaemin hid his smirk in Renjun’s stomach, not missing the tone. “Is he done with the preparations?” Jaemin asked, half-considering if he should relinquish his hold and roll over lest Donghyuck finds out and boils over in repressed rage.

“Donghyuck had spent the last two weeks making calls at everyone who’s anyone’s homes and dropping crumbs about our illustrious siblings at any chance he could,” Renjun said, a touch of amusement in his tone. “Apparently, Jisung is the sole inheritor of all the height in your family and Chenle is further proof that God favours the Huang family with beauty and brains.”

Jaemin gritted his teeth, every ounce inclination of consideration for Donghyuck melting away. “All that’s left would be to send the two brats on an ostentatious ride through town when they’re ready – ”

“ – and thereby announcing their arrival to our lovely friends,” Renjun said ironically, “who would waste no time in inviting us all to inspect them thoroughly over chamomile tea.”

Jaemin nodded, “They’ll do well,” he echoed Renjun’s words, unsure of who he was reassuring. The wind rattled the windows, the darkness of the surrounding moors threatening to swallow up the glow of the lone lamp. “They must.”

♠

_It’s no use._

Jaemin shook his head, his shoulders twitching.

_Why try?_

Jaemin tried to fight back the trembling that had started deep within his chest. He was in the library, slumped against the bookrack on the wooden floor, his books scattered around him. The manor was asleep when Jaemin slipped out of Renjun’s room, goosebumps rising on his skin as he padded towards the library with bare feet. The whispers that started in the afternoon had only grown louder and more insistent, following him even when he sought refuge in Renjun.

The hand clutching the pen to the blank page was white and skeletal, as cold and dead as the inside of his chest. He clawed around in his head for the voice, the one that used to murmur the most beautiful words that he would scrabble to pluck from the air and carefully lay onto the page of a book before they floated away like gossamer threads in the wind.

The voice had been silent for a long time.

All that echoed from the cavern was the _other_ voice.

_What do you have, that you think you deserve to stay? What have you done? What do you amount to at all?_

The hand tightened on the pen. The mind raced, panicked and desperate, producing only a buzzing white noise devoid of meaning. Without lifting his eyes from the paper, Jaemin could feel the shadows stirring from the corner of the room, rising to gather around him, a sentry of ghosts waiting to swallow him. The air grew thick and heavy, a sticky sludge into his lungs.

The wind felt like it was whirling inside him, echoing and rattling. The shadows drifted around his shoulders, settling around his neck like a manacle. His mind fluttered around a final time and settled, withering away like a crumbled leaf.

The hollowness in his chest expanded into a yawning chasm that enveloped him.

If not this, then what do I have? What am I?

Is there a reason to go on?

The voices amplified, overlapping, curdling, bleeding into each other. Jaemin couldn’t hear his own voice over the voices. _There’s no point it doesn’t matter it’s worthless it’s rubbish what do you have what can you do you can’t even do this right what do you have if not this what do you amount to why can’t you be anything_

Jaemin let the pen fall from his fingers. There was no strength left in him. His head fell back against the bookrack and he watched in resigned despair as the shadows and voices sank into him. His mind leapt around, a frenzied animal trapped in a cage, helpless and dumb, unable to do anything but endure in silent agony for it to pass.

♠

Jaemin did not know how much time had passed. Every second was an infinity and an instant. There was no concept of anything but that awful sensation of feeling like his heart was frozen rock solid, aching and suffocating with every beat. His insides were scraped empty, he felt like a child huddled in the empty space of his mind watching Jeno enter the library and take quick steps towards him.

“Jaemin, what are you doing here?” The moonlight glowed on Jeno’s features, turning him into a marble statue. 

Jaemin did not answer. The ghost had its hand over his mouth and around his mind.

Jeno frowned, pressing a warm hand to his forehead. Jaemin could barely feel it. He felt as though he was floating in space, drifting between two worlds, not quite dreaming and not quite awake. “Let’s get you to bed,” Jeno’s voice was calm and level, “It’s three o’ clock in the morning, you’ll catch your death with a cold.” When Jaemin did not respond, he crouched down and peered into his face, staring into his eyes seriously.

Jaemin gazed back, not really registering him. Jaemin didn’t know what it was he saw, but Jeno bent down and scooped him into his arms without another word. “You’re lucky I was up,” Jeno said conversationally, nudging the library door open with a hip. His voice was a rumble in his chest against Jaemin’s ear. “Or you would likely have frozen half to death sitting there all alone. What would Jisung do without you?”

Perhaps Jeno was attempting to lighten the mood, but in that moment with the ghost clinging to his shoulders, Jaemin could not summon the energy to say a word, much less laugh. The words simply slid off him like falling buds on a windowpane.

Jaemin did not speak a word throughout the time it took for Jeno to carry him to his room, keeping up a monologue the entire way about the most mundane stuff. He sat on the bed next to Jaemin after tucking him in, the faint light coming through the drawn curtains cloaking him in shadows.

Jeno hesitated before speaking, seeming like he was considering his words. “Are you alright?” he asked blandly.

Why do you care?

_There’s only one answer that they want._

Jaemin closed his eyes instead, not answering. He didn’t want to sleep, but he didn’t want to speak to anyone either. After a while, the bed shifted as Jeno got up, closing the door quietly behind him.

It felt like he was sleepwalking.

The sun rose, yellow rays spilling into the room and chasing the cold away. Still Jaemin didn’t stir. Mrs Garett came in and took one look at him before leaving, returning with Renjun soon enough.

“Jaemin, you have to get up,” Renjun said, trying and failing to sound firm. Jaemin could see in his eyes that he understood, that he could see the ghost sitting atop Jaemin. After a minute he sighed, tucking the sheets around Jaemin and pressing a hand to Jaemin’s cheek. “I’ll be back in the afternoon,” he promised.

The clock ticked rhythmically, matching the persistent, steady beating of his heart. With a sense of despair that felt like it was coming from very far away, Jaemin realised that the ghost hadn’t left him, an invisible shadow sitting on his chest and pinning him to the bed.

At twenty minutes past three, a time Jaemin only knew because of the clock on the wall opposite his bed, there was the sound of running footsteps and Jisung barged into his room with a bang. “Why are you not in the library yet?” Jisung demanded. His hair was in a disarray as though he had run his hands through it many times. “I haven’t seen you all morning either,” he trailed off, discomfited by the lack of response.

He tottered in place for a moment before decisively making his way towards him. Jisung threw himself on the bed gracelessly, pushing his face right up to Jaemin’s on the pillow. “Why aren’t you answering me?” he was clearly trying to sound commanding, but his voice wavered.

Jaemin stared back at him tiredly. Jisung drew back, unnerved. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked loudly, turning to the door as Renjun entered with Chenle and Jeno drawing up at the back.

“He is unwell,” Renjun tried to deflect, not looking directly at Jaemin. Jaemin knew that Renjun was afraid, that if he looked too long at Jaemin, the ghost might find him tonight too.

Jisung glowered at him, “I know how sick looks like and this isn’t it. Don’t take me for a fool. What’s going on?”

“Jisung,” Jeno tried to intervene.

“Would you believe me if I told you that the ghost has him in its grip today?” Renjun spoke over him, a defiant glint in his eye.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Jisung glanced back at him, his face unreadable. The silence stretched out. “How do we exorcise that thing?” he finally said, turning back to Renjun.

Renjun looked taken aback. “You believe me?”

“You believe it?” Jeno asked in disbelief.

“There’s an actual ghost?” Chenle sounded confused, “I thought it was a figure of speech.”

Jisung shrugged, Jaemin could feel the motion shift the bed. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be any other explanation forthcoming for why he’s lying catatonic in bed right now,” Jisung said pointedly. “It looks like his soul left him.”

“Well, this doesn’t seem as exciting as the ones we hear about, right Jisung?” Chenle gazed at Jaemin apprehensively. “What do we do with him?”

“Normally we just wait until it decides to leave him,” Renjun answered, still looking like he was trying to wrap his head around it. If Jaemin could think clearly, he would too. But in that moment he couldn’t summon the energy to do anything but watch silently. “It’s not the best solution but we don’t know what else to do.”

Jeno was frowning, “I don’t know about ghosts – haven’t seen one myself to tell – but Jisung’s right. There’s clearly something here. Do people still not believe you? Even when they see this?”

“It’s a bit hard to make people believe when no one aside from those who lived with us has,” Renjun replied testily.

“Why not?”

Renjun paused, “Jaemin doesn’t like it. It’s not something he wants people to see.” He motioned to Jisung, “Come now, let’s not bother him. I’ll check on him again later. It doesn’t do him any good to overwhelm him with noise.”

Bless Renjun. The tension in him had been rising steadily since Jisung entered and was on the verge of exploding like a sealed kettle on a stove. Jisung got up reluctantly and the three of them left the room. Jeno was the last to leave, looking back at Jaemin with concern, no doubt remembering how he was like last night.

Give me some time, Jaemin wanted to say. This damned ghost will leave. Eventually. Hopefully.

Jaemin watched as the gold started to bleed, turning orange and burning red in a last desperate attempt to live before extinguishing into a cold blue that soon enveloped him in darkness. Jaemin drifted in and out of consciousness, suspended in a timeless void. The door creaked open as he was edging back into awareness.

The intruder’s face was shrouded in shadows, the glow of the oil lamp casting a halo at their feet. “Jaemin?” a voice whispered, never mind that he was so far across the room that Jaemin could hardly hear him. “Are you awake?”

Without waiting for an answer, the intruder approached. As he did, Jisung’s face materialized from the darkness. He set the lamp down onto the bedside table and put his arms around Jaemin, pulling him to sit up against the headboard. Jisung busied himself with something and brought a teacup to his lips. “Drink,” Jisung urged, “You haven’t had anything all day.”

Jisung tilted the cup so that some tea flowed into his mouth. The bitterness of the tea jolted him. “That’s bloody bitter,” he spoke for the first time that day, voice cracked and hoarse.

“Jeno told us that too much sugar is bad for growing children,” Jisung recited, “And you have too much of it, Renjun said so.” When he was satisfied that Jaemin had drunk enough, Jisung put the teacup down. With more of his awareness returning, Jaemin noticed that he had brought the teacup’s saucer along, only this one held a misshapen slice of cream cake instead of its usual owner. “Here,” he smeared the cake onto Jaemin’s lips clumsily, “Sweets make you happy, you said that before,” he mumbled. “It’s just a little, so it’s okay.” Jisung sounded like he was telling himself that. “And there was no sugar in the tea, so it cancels out.”

Jaemin slowly opened his mouth to take a bite, watching Jisung silently. He didn’t know why Jisung was acting like this, but perhaps people were more inclined to lower their masks in the darkness, when the spotlight wasn’t on them. As Jaemin ate, he felt more of himself returning, the taste of the cake a shock to his numbed senses. “Well, aren’t you being the sweetest right now?” he eventually managed to say. The sarcasm he was aiming for fell flat, his listless voice unable to deliver.

“Even when possessed you’re utterly unbearable,” Jisung said without much bite. He put the empty plate down and peered closely at Jaemin. “Do you need to be alone? But you’ve been alone all day,” he went on without waiting for an answer. “You ought not to be alone in the dark.”

I belong to the dark, Jaemin wanted to say.

The flame from the oil lamp wavered and danced over Jisung’s features, the harsh lines of his usual expression wiped clean, exposing the softness of youth below. Here was another who was taught to show his heart only in places where people cannot see.

There was a creak and Jisung jumped violently, whirling around to see Jeno entering the room and stopping short at the sight. He too, was holding a plate, although this one was stacked with sandwiches. There was an uncertain pause before Jeno cleared his throat, trying to sound stern. “Why are you out of bed, Jisung? Have you come to bother Jaemin?”

“I did no such thing!” Jisung protested. “Right, Jaemin?” he turned back to look at Jaemin beseechingly. Jaemin felt an unexpected rush of affection for the boy, it warmed him more than the tea had. “Of course not,” he said softly, “He was very sweet, bringing me a bit of cake to make me feel better.”

“You shouldn’t be eating desserts on an empty stomach,” Jeno said, coming towards them. “You need to eat a proper meal first.” He set the plate down beside the empty saucer, handing a sandwich to Jaemin while Jisung reached over and snagged one for himself.

Jaemin held the sandwich, only bringing it to his lips and nibbling on it obligingly when Jeno levelled a stern look at him. “Donghyuck came by today,” Jeno said, his fingers picking at the embroidery on the covers. “He said, to hell with your idea of dragging them across town in a carriage, and that he’ll hold a welcome party one week from now to introduce Jisung and Chenle,” his lips twitched in a smile. “He wants you and Renjun to be there too, said something about making it more authentic.”

“What do you do at those parties?” Jisung asked, lying on his side and ignoring Jeno admonishing him to sit up.

“Dance, mostly,” Jaemin replied, his half-eaten sandwich still in his hand. “Or Renjun would sing and I accompanied with the piano,” Jaemin snorted lightly. “Or at least we used to. Now I drown myself in drink while Renjun follows Donghyuck around, using him as a shield.”

“Can I drink too?” Jisung asked, his question punctured with a yawn.

“Absolutely not,” Jeno refused immediately, but his gaze was soft as it rested on Jisung. Jisung scrunched his nose but didn’t argue, presumably worn out.

“Are you planning on sleeping here? Shall I start the bedtime story?” Jaemin teased gently.

“If it would make more sense than your poems, please do,” replied Jisung dryly.

Jaemin hummed, leaning his head against the headboard and placing the sandwich onto the plate. He tugged Jeno in so that he was next to Jaemin, under the covers. Surrounded by this unexpected company Jaemin began;

“There was once a man who lived in a small town. He spent his boyhood there and knew it like the back of his hand.” It had been so long since Jaemin spun words out of the air that the sound of his own voice surprised him and he paused. A little glow lit up in him, like a firefly in a jar.

He cleared his throat, “One day he woke up and felt something shift. At the beginning it was such a tiny change that he didn’t notice it. As he went about his days in that town, the shifts turned into cracks and day by day the cracks gathered. One day it was him making the entirely wrong type of bread, even though he had been making it every year since he first joined the bakery as an apprentice in his youth. Another day it was him forgetting the way back home, even though he had never lived in another house in his life.

“Off days for this hardworking man were rare and he cherished it almost as much as the treats he indulged himself in. One day he woke up with his mind wiped clean and try as he might, he couldn’t remember what it was that he would do on his off days. Something had changed, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.”

The room was quiet, the wind wasn’t howling over the moors for once. Just the sound of Jaemin’s voice and the flickering flame of the lamps, and the weight of the gazes of the two boys on him.

“The days went by and slowly he forgot more and more. On the surface, nothing changed much. He spoke to his friends and family and laughed with them, even though their words had become utterly incomprehensible to him. He watched and waited for them to laugh and joined in when they did.

“There was a strange emptiness in his chest, a space of non-existence where his heart should be. Day by day it expanded within him and as more and more of him disappeared, less and less of him remained to remember how to behave as he should. Bit by bit he vanished and one day, the man woke up and found himself invisible.

“The most puzzling thing was that no one seemed to notice. And so, puzzled but not finding it in himself to be particularly bothered, the man went about his days like this, working and talking while people looked through him, all the while with the most peculiar feeling of watching a stranger live his life.”

“Well?” Jisung demanded when the silence went on, “What happened in the end?”

“His voice vanished,” Jaemin ended blandly. “And with that, so did the man. He spent the rest of his days like this, an invisible, senseless observer, half in this world and half not, while his corporeal body continued to move through life without a hitch.”

Jisung sat up in indignation. “What? That’s it?”

“Not a single person knew?” Jeno asked.

“No one could tell,” Jaemin replied, nonchalant to Jisung’s outrage. “He was the most excellent performer.”

Jisung fell back to the bed with a groan, “You write the most awful stuff,” he complained. “Why can’t you write a nice, cheerful story that won’t hurt my head when I hear about it?”

Jaemin’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “I’ll tell you one about the jester someday. Perhaps you’ll like that one more.”

♠

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dealt with the main theme of the story. You might have a clearer idea of the ghost now. Take it how you will, but if you know, you know. 
> 
> Anyways! On an entirely different note (ha ha ha) I've been toying with the idea of writing a sequel to HOBI but hmm just a thought. I have to get through this damned month of September without wanting to incinerate my entire virus stock before I think about doing anything else.


End file.
